They Might As Well Be Strangers
by 0melting.snow0
Summary: Just a little oneshot what might have happened - what could have happened, if he just would've been able to open up to her. House/Cam


**They might as well be Strangers**

He might have stared at her fragile figure. Everyday he was looking at her. Watching. Judging. Tearing her apart. Maybe she'd noticed, enjoying the gaze of her former boss on her body. It was almost as if she was somewhat special to him. Hopefully.

Maybe he was beginning to like her, really like her and maybe she wasn't bothered by him stalking her in the ER. She might have felt flattered.

Eventually he might have asked her out and she said yes – a bright and shiny smile on her face. They would've agreed that it would be a non-date. Their non-dates seemed to be successful. It might have felt like they were in a daze. Consciousness slowly seeping back into their world. Maybe he took her to _Gravedigger_ again and she might have loved it. When she would smile brilliantly at him he might have almost smiled back – caving.

He wouldn't be the kind of guy holding her hand or kissing her in public. She knew. Of course she knew. After a month she knew him better than anybody else and it was a puzzle how she'd managed that. At least to him and even though he didn't want it she moved. Slowly, taking baby steps.

Maybe he watched her sleep, a frown on his face, realizing that she'd want more, not daring to ask – knowing that there was nothing more he could give. He might have touched her face, enjoying the almost unbearable softness of her skin. She might have opened her eyes glancing up in his direction, smiling. Her smile was something he might have never understood, but something he could live with because it lit up his life too, slightly.

He might have never told her she was the love of his life even though she was. Maybe he was afraid of getting hurt, because she might not feel the same – as if this would be possible. But maybe he'd shown her his feelings. By a gentle brush of their fingers. By the way he acted when she talked with other guys. By the way he watched her – just doing the dishes.

Maybe they'd made this work. Maybe they were happy in the end. Maybe it wasn't necessary at all asking him for forever. Maybe he promised her that they would let it last as long as it was lasting. Maybe they didn't do anything for it, nothing against it. Maybe that was enough.

They might have told everyone after a few months, nobody believing that he was actually dating her. Maybe there was a lot of gossiping and rumors. They didn't care less.

After a year she might have told him she was pregnant. Maybe he'd yelled at her, trying to force her into an abortion. He might have told her he never wanted to be a father, that he couldn't take this kind of responsibility.

She might have worked double shifts during this time – avoiding him, avoiding her life. She might have closed her bloodshot eyes, wishing everything was just a really bad dream. Maybe it was Cuddy forcing her into a free day – trying to convince her to take some rest. Maybe she couldn't. Maybe she went home – alone – getting rid of everything that reminded her of him. When she was done there might have been almost nothing left.

It was too much – eventually. Too much to feel. Too much to ask. Too much to bear. Maybe.

Maybe she left Princeton after their break-up. She might have not been able to stand his presence, knowing he would never be the man she wanted him to be. She might have never looked backed and they wouldn't see each other ever again – eventually.

Or maybe…Maybe they would run into each other – years later in a park near PPTH. He might have heard that she was working as a professor at Princeton University. Staring at the little boy on her left hand he might have ignored her, hobbling slowly past her. Maybe he was transfixed by the curious icy blue eyes following him. And maybe he couldn't bring himself to stop, though he wanted to.

Maybe she was the one turning around, her pale face never leaving his body, following him. Watching. Judging. Tearing him apart. Eventually their gaze met – just a second – before the little boy started pulling her away from this tall creepy man. She might have looked down at her son, a gentle smile on her face, nodding, following him home. And when he would ask her if she knew this man, she might just shake her head, trying to explain that she used to know him, a long time ago.

He might have closed his eyes much later, letting sleep fall over him – the strange man long forgotten. And maybe he didn't notice his mother buried into her cushions staring at a picture in her hand, a sad expression on her face. He might have never heard about _Gravedigger._

But maybe, just maybe he would have found years later a single picture of his mother when she was younger, sitting on a monster truck, a big grin on her face. There might have stood a man beneath her, a cane in his right hand and maybe his mother wasn't looking in the camera at all. Maybe she stared at the man, mesmerized by his presence and he might have known just by that look who he was.

Maybe there were times when he caught her just staring outside a window, watching nothing. And maybe he knew what she was thinking about. Even after all these years she might have still been in love with the man who used to be his father. It might be possible that he once asked her why she could still love him. She might have smiled at him, like she always did, and she might have told him that Love was something you couldn't switch on or off. Sometimes it was just forever.

He might have never understood.

He might have looked up when the door opened and was taken aback by her appearance. Maybe he knew she was at a funeral that day and he might have believed her when she said she was alright. Or at least…going to be alright. He might have never asked her whose funeral she was at that day – just the fact seemed too much to bear for her. The dark circles under her eyes and the almost transparent skin enough to make his own assumptions.

Maybe he knew he was the spitting image of his mother, except his eyes. Those icy blue eyes. And maybe some inner force made him look up when he passed someone in the park, so many years later. He might have met his gaze, not believing what he was seeing. He might have thought he was long gone not realizing it was Wilson's funeral his mother went to so many years ago.

The other man might have looked up too, realization slowly coming. Nobody might have said a word and the other man's gaze might have dropped on to the baby girl at his right hand. The spitting image of her grandmother. Maybe nobody said a word when they passed. Maybe there was nothing left to say.

They might as well be strangers.

The End

A/N: Thanks again to** angelaalex** from LJ for beta reading my stuff. You're the best. 3


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